The Importance of Appearances
by Sidhbh
Summary: Irving Braxiatel wants a clock, and he has to go to a small country auction to get it. Simple enough, right?


Irving Braxiatel is a man who is ready, unhurried, calm. Of course, in order to appear so, it takes some degree of effort, so it isn't _impossible_ to catch him off guard and see him unprepared, rushed and not unlike a turkey who's gained the full awareness of the passage of time only to discover that it was approaching December the twenty fifth. In essence, the antithesis of calm.

He does take personal pride in the fact that so few have managed to see him in this state and even fewer cause it, that to the average individual he is a man completely above it all.

Truth, after all, is a matter of perception so why not take pride in how true it is for people that he _is_ above them?

And he was positive that neither Daleks or Ancient Time Lords, or invasion fleets weren't going to interrupt this small, if deceptively important, auction.

He was, after all, not the Doctor, who never thought to _ensure_ his visits were quiet before he arrived. Adventures were what happened when things went wrong, so care must be taken to make sure nothing _would_.

The item he was here to bid for was a clock. While it was generally accepted that it was fine, well-crafted clock, it _wasn't_ known (at least in this time period) that the creator was about to fall through a rift in time and ended up… not doing terribly well. This, in a matter of weeks, would stir up mystery novels and conspiracies that would increase the clock's (and the others made) value rather a lot. So it was going to be rather a bargain! And like any self-respecting collector, Brax did so enjoy his bargains.

Benny didn't, however, but she did like pubs, which the English countryside did not skimp on, so she took advantage of one not too far from the auction house.

Brax was about to brood, uh, that is to say, consider deeply, The Bernice Conundrum when he was jolted out of his potential reverie by the mutterings (though don't let the term confuse you, it may have been indistinct but it was quite _loud_) of a middle-aged woman in a bright hat, dress and jacket.

She was muttering to her husband who appeared to be a un-alcoholic, as distinct from an alcoholic in that he seemed to aspire to be one, but would likely not even get as far as getting his first sip due to it being henpecked out of his hand.

The woman realised she had caught his eye and grinned at him. Braxiatel's hearts sank. That was no ordinary greeting or even apologetic smile. He knew a predatory one when he saw it.

And, of course, she sat down right beside him. "I do _so_ enjoy a small country auction, don't you?"

He almost sighed his response. "Oh, indeed."

"You'd be _surprised_ at the number of people who don't see the _value_ of a small country auction!"

There wasn't really a response to that beyond a 'oh, indeed' and Brax was loathe to repeat himself, so he just raised his eyebrows in agreement and a slight nod.

"I was just telling Richard how we really should come down here to a _nice_, small country _auction_." Apparently, his new neighbour didn't share his distaste. "I myself do enjoy collecting fine tea sets. I have a set of Royal Doulton with hand painted periwinkles."

"Oh. Well done." He mentally noted that a tea set was being auction just after his lot, so if he wanted his clock, he was going to have to tolerate this… woman. Not so cheap, after all.

"I like to have these candlelight suppers. Famous for miles they are, aren't they Richard?" Richard couldn't even finish his half-hearted agreement before she continued. "Would you like to come?"

Braxiatel blinked and looked at her. "Pardon?"

"Only the best kind of people would come, of course. I'm well known in the _proper_social circles. So you'll come!"

She seemed awfully certain. "I…" but he had to look away because his lot was up. She, _obviously_, took this as agreement. He blocked her out as best he could and focused on the bidding.

He sighed with relief that he had gotten his prize, the endless prattling of the woman beside him and the surprising vigour of his opponents almost making him worry. Almost.

"Have I told you about my Sheridan?"

"It's entirely possible," he replied, starting to stand. Nothing was keeping him there now unlike the woman whose lot was just about to come up. "Good day to you."

"OH!"

He paused, barely turning towards her, with one of his best 'you are beneath me, why are you still talking?' stares.

It went right by her. "What's your name?"

He sighed. "Braxiatel. Irving Braxiatel." It would hardly do him harm to allow her that knowledge, he wasn't going to be here long.

"Hyacinth Bouquet," she almost purred. He smiled weakly at her and nodded quickly at Richard when his name was mentioned. He made haste to leave.

* * *

Never before had Benny been the balm to a tired soul she was when he found her in the bar. At least, that was he divined from her reaction, a mixture of shock, concern and not a little touched (though she would deny _that_ later if asked).

"Don't ask, Bernice. Thalia's Bones, do not _ever_ ask."

Bernice's eyebrows rose. "All… all right, Brax, whatever you say. Drink?" There's that look again. "…Right."

* * *

Whatever had made Brax into whatever the hell Brax had been made into seemed to have faded into oblivion as they set down for a dinner before leaving. Benny was wavering between being relieved and… And some other emotion.

Curiosity, she decided it was. After all, she didn't ask, so naturally, she was burning with curiosity. Brax was studiously pretending that she wasn't.

He was just about to declare what he was about to eat when he just sort of… stopped. Mouth hanging open as if he'd seen a ghost or a Dalek. "Oh, no."

Bernice immediately turned, almost putting her back out, mind you, but whatever Braxiatel was seeing was either only visible to Time Lord senses, or something more sinister but still ordinary to untrained eyes.

Meanwhile, Brax was muttering like whatever it was meant his doom. The usual. "It can't be" and "Please, no" and so on.

"What _is_ it, Brax?" Benny finally asked, looking back at him to find him _hiding behind his menu_? She pulled it down, only for him to flip it back up.

"HELLO!" Which made Bernice jerk. She was going to need a massage if this was going to keep up. She could take solace in the fact that Brax seemed to have a similar reaction.

"He… Hello," she stammered at this new woman, whose hat was about to fall off her head in excitement.

"Benny," Brax spoke in a weary tone. "Hyacinth Bouquet, Mrs Bouquet… Benny." He straightened as if trying to snap himself out of it. "Ah, Professor Bernice Summerfield."

Mrs Bouquet eyed her like she was not unlike she was something taken off her, undoubtedly bright green shoes.

"Hyacinth…!" a man, who Bernice had barely noticed, caught up with her, clearly embarrassed. He glanced at the two diners with an apologetic smile. She found herself smiling back in empathy.

The waiter hurried up to them. "I'm sorry, madam…" Well, he certainly knew who was in charge… much like the entire dining room, really. "But there's no reservation for 'Bouquet'."

The woman's smile thinned and jerked her head sharply to the man, who obediently moved to the waiter's side and in a tone that he's been over this many times before and still find it bewildering, explains. "Ah, it's spelled 'B', 'u', 'c', 'k', 'e', 't'."

"Oh, _Bucket_!"

Braxiatel outright snorted while Mrs _Bucket_ winced.

"Perhaps we should find our own table," her husband suggested quietly. She nodded and allowed herself to be led off


End file.
